Personal

It's a Saturday night, and I'm doing the only household thing I know how to do; laundry. I get people to do all the other chores, so one might think it could be extended to laundry. But no. Laundry is too personal. I do not want anybody else rummaging through my underwear for one. Nor through my socks which always have a silly something printed on them. I love Hello Kitty socks, but how am going to explain it to someone else? Hello Kitty at 35? Well yes because firstly they're not going to show anyway so I might just as well wear whatever takes my fancy. More personal stuff, that's panties and bras, oh no nobody is going to see those, except, of course, anybody whom I like. But that's it. I have always wondered how people can take their laundry to a laundry shop and wash their clothes in full view. Worse to come is that you even call someone to come and pick up your unwashed things, and return them spotless. The spotless thing is cool, but the fact that some stranger has been handling my own personal effects... not a nice thought. There are some things which are way too personal to reveal, not counting some night of fiery red hot passion. Well it needn't be a night, it could be daytime, but somehow the night evokes the mystery which the day doesn't have. So it's me and the washing machine... which is a genius.

Kamekaze Lover - Baklava

Ok so as my brother's most faithful twin puppy, here I am on his instructions. It's for the Song for Europe and his entry. It's a good song, I can guarantee that. Good harmony, beautiful originality, top-notch musicality. Tonight, another of the eliminatory phases will take place on TVM. Why am I here? Because I have strict instructions to spread the word. But I am too shy to send emails, texts and the whole works. So it has to go on here, in my blog because I find that more comfortable than any other medium. It's all about a Kamekaze lover. My twin has a Baklava pen name. Baklava is actually one of the best sweets in the world. Why Baklava? I have no clue. But I'm trying to be honest and objective about it. The song really rocks. So... if anybody could help out with the voting... I will be so very glad. Because he's my twin, and somehow his happiness is mine also.

Sleep and LSA's

It's a holiday, but it's a holiday anyway because it's falling on a Saturday. I don't mind that, I have still slept till about one hour ago so it's worth it. My mum says we never slept much as kids, maybe I'm making up for time lost. Or maybe I'm loading myself for Christmas so that my face will look good. Sleeping saves you a whole lot of expense which otherwise would be going to beauty therapists. And I don't mind beauty therapists either, I'm just not convinced they can make the difference. At least not in my case. I emerge looking out very much the same way as I went in before. So sleeping is such a better alternative. I have always had a funny relationship with this thing called sleep. It is so difficult for me to find it and finally go to sleep, and once I'm in there, then it is so lovely and so difficult to end it. Maybe it's a plea to go back into my mum's womb or something, but that would rip her apart if I had to try nowadays. I still look at her and think where the hell did she manage to keep two babies in gestation. And two babies in delivery? I guess there was one time in my life when I must have been so very small. And perhaps small babies grow big or something? This pregnancy thing, I have never been very interested in. I eat all the wrong things, smoke, do all the wrong things, and that would be passed on to an innocent creature inside. One thing I have is, I do have space for a baby to grow. I'd probably become massive or something of the sort. Better this way. This way I am having uninterrupted sleep. The other way, I'd probably still b e having uninterrupted sleep because I wouldn't hear a thing. I go through 7 alarms, an alarm clock, a phone alarm, and I still keep on sleeping beautifully. I sometimes wonder how I can hold a day job. But I do, because somehow the biological clock wakes me up at half seven, which means I have just half an hour to put it all together. But it works, because I'm always traffic free. It is no case of me subconsciously not wanting to go to my job, far from that. I actually miss it during holidays. Perhaps that makes me a very sorry person, one who puts her job at almost the centre of her life. But I love it, what can I do? It wasn't always this way, the first year I thought I'd be throwing the towel in. Not now. I stuck to it for one year thanks to the support of my parents, they themselves who had been in the same teaching profession. Sometimes I cried because I didn't want to go to school. And that really sounds as if I were some five year old. Now I never cry. OK I cry sometimes, but not because I have a job to keep. Hell no. Now I cry because my emotions still run as high as the ex twin towers. I don't think I do bad as a teacher. If kids could be witnesses, then I think I make a good thing out of it. But it hasn't stopped me taking my thoughts and emotions as homework. And I know I can solve nothing, but I still do. It's not always sad, most time it's happy homework. It's only the odd day when I take the sad metaphorical knotted ball of string with me. I guess I have learning difficulties in the emotive subject, so maybe the Education Division should provide me with an LSA. LSA people are cool, and highly underpaid for the job they do. I would really go easy on them and not drain them of their potential. But who on earth is going to provide a 35 year old with an LSA? Nobody. So perhaps that is the reason we resort to sessions on the couch. At least we can let off the steam, as well as the frustration tears. It's the only thing that works, apart from my faithful blog.